User blog:Tater Chip Girl/Where Your Loyalties Lie - Chapter 01
DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made from this story and any copyright infringement is completely unintended. Other characters created for this story are mine and should not be used in other materials or at other websites without my permission. WARNINGS: Consensual non-graphic M/F sex; consensual non-graphic M/M sex; some strong language and violence. PAIRINGS: Snape/Hermione, Harry/Ron, Dumbledore/? Momentum Everything about her intrigued and delighted him. Though not easily given to such things, he found the smallest details drew him in - the confident lift of her chin, the way she bit her lip and tapped her quill on the desk when deep in thought. Nor had her beauty escaped his notice. Left to himself, he could easily have stared at her all day. Quite often in the classroom he tore his gaze from her and found someone else to focus on, just so he wouldn't forget himself and falter in the middle of a lecture. Almost every night now, thoughts of her awakened him - or never let him sleep at all - rising to a fever pitch as he tossed in his bed. Reading didn't help, nor did pacing the room. Taking matters in hand gave him only a brief respite, and never truly satisfied. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he painstakingly crafted two potions that promised to alleviate this distressing situation once and for all. For the girl, one that would bind her to him always. That bottle was scarlet, the shade of his secret passion. For himself, one that would erase that passion from his heart and mind. Deep blue was its color, the hue of peace and forgetfulness. Each was designed for immediate and permanent effect. Night after night he took them out and watched them glisten, unused, on his table. What to do, what to do... "Bloody hell," he whispered to no one in particular. "What have I come to ... " With each passing day, he felt himself grow closer to giving in. What had he come to, indeed. Only desperation could have driven him to the use of love potions, for which he felt immeasurable disgust. Closing his eyes took away the sight of the two accusing bottles, if only for a moment. He could almost hear the damned things laughing at his quandary. Though he had recently counted his fortieth year, it seemed to him a century had passed; the object of his desire - and one of his most promising students - had just celebrated her sixteenth birthday. He'd seen her for the first time five years ago, as she'd climbed shakily up the steps in the main hall. Professor McGonagall waited above, Sorting Hat in hand. For a moment, the girl's nervous eyes had met his - or so it seemed, as she swallowed hard and trailed her frightened gaze down the length of the staff table before turning around and taking her seat on the tall, rickety stool. Gryffindor, he'd thought as the Hat was lowered onto her head. And of course, she was. What else *could* she be? Even now, she shone with the same light he'd seen in her then, that special radiance possessed only by the pure of heart. Perhaps he lusted only after that goodness, that clean-scrubbed glow, both of which he had lost long ago - if indeed he'd ever had them. And ye gods, but she was strong. It made his skin tingle every time he went near her. Mr. Harry Potter might be The Boy Who Lived, but this powerful girl, with the right guidance, might one day be his equal. In fact, Snape himself would put money on it. Was that it, then? Was *that* what drew him to her? No, it couldn't be. Had power been his sole craving, he would never have come back from the Dark Side, or given his loyalty to Albus Dumbledore. Nor would he spend his days and nights in a huge, drafty castle, helping tend and educate this enormous flock of juvenile nitwits. What would the Headmaster think if he knew one of his most trusted associates harbored this forbidden desire? Once more her image danced across his consciousness, taunting him with its untouchability. He leapt up and angrily paced the room, fingers raking through his hair. With each turn, his robes flared out behind him, snapping with the force of his movements. Again and again he whipped past the table, his eyes touching on the potions in their brightly-colored containers. At last, he'd had enough. This wasn't helping. Veering sharply in mid-stride, he slammed his hands down flat with the two mocking bottles between them. His shoulders heaved with his rapid breathing as it hissed in and out past his tightly clenched teeth. This was impossible - something had to be done straight away, or he would go bloody insane. His hands made claws of themselves, digging his nails into the wooden surface. He knew what his choice should be - but would he have the strength to make it? Unbidden, one hand caught up the tiny red bottle and wrapped it in a desperate fist, pressing it to his chest. A little memory charm, a tip of the bottle into her oblivious lips, and she would be his tonight and forever. Faster and faster his heart beat, pounding out the rhythm of his secret obsession - Take her, take her, TAKE HER ... "No!" With all his will, he raised his clenched fist and released it, sending the jewel-bright bit of glass hurtling into the fireplace, where it shattered among the flames, its contents sizzling away immediately into harmless steam. Just on the near edge of weeping, he let his knees give way and sank to the floor - whether with relief or regret, he couldn't be sure. All that remained was to purge himself of this longing, and then it would all be over. No more would his heart leap at the sight of her, or his voluminous robes have to hide the painful evidence of his desire. Without looking, he slid a trembling hand up onto the table and felt it close around the blue bottle. He brought it down slowly, eyes still averted, and pulled the stopper. Clasping it to his chest much as he had the other, he hesitated, his eyes widening with sudden realization - he didn't have to do this. He could wait. Only two years were left until her graduation. Two years, and his suffering could come to an end. That is, if she would have him. A derisive snort escaped his lips. What was he thinking? By then he'd be past forty, and she a sweet and succulent eighteen, more comely than she was now - as if that were possible. For some time, she'd been turning the heads of the male students, whether she knew it or not. What the hell would she want with an old git like him, let alone one who consistently maltreated her? Besides, he could never justify drawing an such an innocent into his darkness. It seemed an offence to even think of doing so, though her presence had already rekindled long-hidden parts of him that had once made him almost human. The mere thought of touching her made the iceberg that was his soul almost imperceptibly begin to melt. But no - strong as it might be, his selfishness was far outweighed by his loyalties. In the end, that decided everything. Raising to his lips the bitter potion that would render him from this night forward immune to her charms, Severus Snape spoke the words that would soon hold no meaning for him at all. "I love you, Hermione." Advanced Double Potions class. Her hand was in the air as usual, waving relentlessly for his attention. Is there any bloody thing she *doesn't* already know? he sneered to himself (but not without a quick thrill of pride). Snape swept his gaze past Hermione Granger's eager, sparkling eyes - dismissively enough, he hoped. "Dare I hope," he murmured ominously, "that someone *other* than Miss Granger pays attention in class?" Beside her, Harry Potter shrank in his seat, trying as usual to avoid notice. "Mr. Potter ... " The boy gulped visibly and blanched a bit at the sound of his name. Good. Can't have him getting *too* comfortable, now can we? Lip curled in disdain, Snape sinuously advanced on him, prepared to dole out yet another public drubbing. He was careful to keep his robes draped strategically in front of him, concealing his obvious pleasure in the company of Miss Granger. Eyebrow arched in what he hoped was a convincingly imperious manner, Snape forced himself to concentrate on his tirade. The potion intended to prevent this uncomfortable situation had long since been cleansed from the stones of his floor. No sooner had the bottle touched his lips than Snape had gone into a sudden sneezing fit, which sent the delicate vessel flying out of his unsteady hand to shatter uselessly at his knees. Countless tiny slivers of glass had rendered the liquid undrinkable. Though Fate had intervened and prevented him from following through, he at least had the satisfaction of knowing he'd made the effort. And in his heart of hearts, he was glad - it was literally out of his hands. The choice had been made for him. Nothing for it now but to deal with the situation until he was alone in his rooms again, where the matter could be ... tended to. As it would have to be tomorrow, and the day after as well. Not to mention the many days following that. A new bottle of blue potion waited, locked away in a storeroom behind his office, in case he grew weak again. To remind him where his loyalties lay. Severus Snape had a long wait ahead of him. I have to do *something*. I can't let this go on. Hermione Granger rubbed her eyes, then sat back and stared out the library window. She was fairly sure they were red again from her endless hours of research. Despite all her hard work, a solution to her problem still had not presented itself, and her situation was becoming intolerable. At first, she'd dismissed it as a fleeting affectation that would quickly fade and allow her to once again concentrate on on her studies. To her dismay, there had been no improvement. She lay awake for hours at night, unable to think of anything else, even at home over the summer. Start of term had seen her digging into every Potions and Counterspells book she could get her hands on, certain by then that someone had pulled a nasty magical prank on her. Nothing she tried had the least effect. I need help, she thought, blinking tiredly at the fading evening light falling across the open book before her. I need it *now*, before this gets any worse. Sighing heavily, she closed the book and turned to stuff it into her bag, which was already filled to the bursting point. As she saw it, two options were left to her: another midnight trip to the library's Restricted Section underneath Harry's borrowed Invisibility Cloak, or a dreaded walk to the office of the one person who could conceivably help her. Neither choice appealed to her. She remembered Harry's experience with the screaming book he'd picked up in the Restricted Section in his first year. So far, her luck had held out, but there was still no guarantee the same thing wouldn't happen to her, and she had no desire to be caught by Filch and risk expulsion. Then there was Snape. Of all the teachers at Hogwarts, he was the most qualified to help her. Of course, she could always go to Dumbledore, who would doubtless hear her plea, but the nature of her problem would require him to summon the Potions Master anyway. So there it is, she thought miserably as she made her way past the other studying students.'' I have no choice but to go to him. He's the only one who can help me.'' Reluctantly, she headed down the hall and began the long trek to Snape's office. Had things been less serious, the irony of her situation would have made her laugh - the one person who could remedy her situation was also the reason she needed help in the first place. >>> CHAPTER 02 Category:Blog posts Category:SS/HG Category:Blog Stories